« Being Blonde | Main | Art at Apple »

December 26, 2011



The only 'cure' that I've heard of is: infect someone else with your song. Can't say it's worked for me, but a friend swears by it!

titles inc

Dear Camelama,
There's an old expression - I wouldn't wish it on my woist enemy.
Actually if I had a woist enemy, this might be a nice vengeance - no blood involved.


Dear Florence,
How about poems, ... or old funny lyrics. Lydia the taaaa tooo ed lady ... something like that.
We are lucky to have these old songs in our heads. What's better to have inside your head besides poems and music. Not much.
Mickey and I made up two CDs for the grand kids ... songs of the 30's 40's ... 50's ... and before as well.
They'll be the only nine and eleven year olds singing "I Wish That I Could Shimmy Like My Sister Kate" ... etc. Ha ha.
Heyyy ... whaddya think?
Crocodile Rock ... Your Feet's Too Big ... Johnny B Good ...

SPLISH SPLASH I was takin' a bath ...

Ha ha ... try forgetting that one.

No Way :-)

Henri R. Goudsmit

Try Quietus, a homeopathic medication. www.quietrelief.com 1-800-779-1990

Steve Shay

The best cure is to listen to "The Banana Phone" song on YouTube by Raffi:


It will knock out Silent Night, the theme song to Gilligan's Island, even Barry Manilow's Copacabana. Basically, it is like curing your headache by poundng a hammer on your big toe.


Gee, thanks a lot, Steve. Raucous. The cartoon animals are cute, but that's not my Banana phone looks like.

The comments to this entry are closed.